


To Be On the Flogging Block

by asemic



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Consensual Kink, Discussion of Flagellation, Glove Kink, M/M, Prostitution, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:35:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26165743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asemic/pseuds/asemic
Summary: In a different world, John Irving seeks some corrective measures. A man and a molly house exist to assist.Terror_exe prompt: cornelius hickey/john irving, violence, roleplay, domestic bliss, spanking
Relationships: Cornelius Hickey/Lt John Irving
Comments: 3
Kudos: 25
Collections: @terror_exe Flash Fest





	To Be On the Flogging Block

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt: [cornelius hickey/john irving, violence, roleplay, domestic bliss, spanking](https://twitter.com/terror_exe/status/1234270307759816704)

A week and two days after he made a promise to never stray to St. John’s Wood, John Irving trod well-walked and familiar roads to reach his destination. His life’s journey, much to his disdain, meant he followed the same wandering paths to this destination. A hypocrite, a man who disseminated the very same tracts condemning these horrible actions partook in them so willingly. Indeed, any attempts to exercise restraint failed when he so desired physical restraint and correction. 

He tucked the money in the hands of the welcoming gentleman and took his usual seat. The austere, high backed wooden chair offered no comfort. It reminded him of who he was for a moment before he moved into a far different role. Only here in this dreadful moll house did he fully exhale. The Grove of the Evangelist, space most fitting for a man of faith.

John’s mind reeled with savage cruelties against himself and the lowly pleasures he so worked to extinguish. But prayer provided a temporary balm while his skin itched under his clothing. So he tore at himself, content with the understanding that soon another would apply a different sort of medication. There’d be no passive hands here, no falling to his knees in contemplation. Tonight he moved only for the birch or a corrective hand. The block belonged to him. 

A giggling blonde of two and twenty shepherded him up a narrow, creaking staircase. Each step reminded him of his destination while his palm slipped and caught the well-waxed railing. Pitched noises and sharp cracks behind closed doors permeated his journey down the long hall. Soon he’d join them, completely lost in the moment. 

John was a man comforted by ritual and routine. He longed to find contentment in the arms of someone who understood him. An angel of the household with a pretty penis and lovely hands so quick to strike out when he so required. Let him brandish the rod and leave John spoiled and satiated. 

He gave a courtesy knock then, finding the door unlocked, he slipped inside and quickly slipped out of his sack coat and shoes. The familiar gas lantern cast a warm glow around the space. The scent of lavender weighed over the ever-present tobacco; he remembered--the attention to detail remained one of the reasons why he returned to this place. 

“Darling, I’m home.” A touch of melancholy met the words. He wished to say it upon entering his own home, the space too empty for his liking. Many times he entertained taking him from here. A busy man such as himself easily excused away a live-in secretary and bookkeeper. Though the question remained unasked he understood the answer remained no. But who was he to keep him from falling once more? John Irving, a good and godly man who begged fervently for the application of the birch. Their lives intersected here before their roads diverged. For now, he must enjoy his time and not mourn for what could not be. 

“I missed you, John,” came the light response from the other room. His handsome favorite entered from the adjoining room with a sweet smile. An immediate sense of warmth displaced John’s usual nerves. Even when engaged in oration and his writings they lingered; no matter how lauded his well-reasoned arguments, nothing silenced the doubt. Only _he_ eased him. How he wished to make him his own for life!

He did not know his true name. Initials _EC_ and terms of endearment coupled with begging sounds were enough. If he did abandon the molly house then he may reinvent himself with an entirely new name, ordinary or complicated. Wrap himself up in lies--John vouched for him. His slender, gloved hand and deceptively strong body knew where to aim each blow. Most important he understood John wished to be caressed then imprinted. Long lines of color and raised flesh restored his purpose, his castigation the purest state to be read across the rounded cheeks. 

“Come closer, beloved.” John raised the gloved wrist to his lips. The buff-colored kid leather soothed his apple-red arse after each appointment. But right now having it be the cause of his delicious pain became a temptation too tempting to ignore. “I have much to atone for and I need your correction.” 

The thin fingers stroked up along John’s beard then gave an experimental pat. A cheeky twinkle met EC bright eyes and John prepared for the first strike. “No, I don’t believe this will set you right. I’ll have you over my knee, my love. And then you’ll confess to me all your transgressions.” 

EC, his love and light, pulled the glove at the wrist. A sigh escaped John when he watched the leather stretch then settle nicely against his hand. If he obeyed then he’d be seen as good and pure. When made innocent once again no longer would he return to see him. He'd never stray from the tried and true path the Lord laid for him.


End file.
